


but there is an element of ridiculous to it (you knew it would happen).

by flustraaa



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV), Criminal Minds RPF
Genre: BAMF Spencer Reid, Hurt Spencer Reid, Injured Spencer Reid, M/M, Sleepy Spencer Reid, Spencer Reid Whump, Spencer is a A+ baby sitter, Tears will be shed, Uncle Spencer Reid, he do be sleepy tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:28:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24515407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flustraaa/pseuds/flustraaa
Summary: “Eventually something you love is going to be taken away. And then you will fall to the floor crying. And then, however much later, it is finally happening to you: you’re falling to the floor crying thinking, “I am falling to the floor crying,” but there’s an element of the ridiculous to it — you knew it would happen and, even worse, while you’re on the floor crying you look at the place where the wall meets the floor and you realize you didn’t paint it very well.“- richard siken
Relationships: Henry LaMontagne & Spencer Reid, Jennifer "JJ" Jareau & Henry LaMontagne & Spencer Reid, Jennifer "JJ" Jareau & Spencer Reid, Penelope Garcia & Spencer Reid, Spencer Reid & Aaron Hotchner, Spencer Reid & David Rossi, Spencer Reid & Derek Morgan, Spencer Reid & Emily Prentiss, Spencer Reid & The BAU Team
Comments: 16
Kudos: 483





	1. Chapter 1

“You’re absolutely sure you’re okay with Henry for the next two days?” JJ asks, fumbling around jotting down some final information on the list pasted to the fridge. “He can be a lot to handle and I just—“

“JJ,” Spencer soothes, setting down his bag as he loops between Will and herself, “It’ll be fine, he’s made it this far without experiencing the Reid effect. I’ve watched him before, go have a nice weekend.”

“Thank you,” Will says before JJ can change her mind and cancel their plans completely. “Call in once a night to keep us _sane_ , yeah?” 

“Of course, Henry’s nap is until one-thirty still, right?” Spencer reaffirms, though he knows it should be the same he’s learned to expect the unexpected— which— well, sucked to be completely honest.

“He was in one of those toddler moods around ten, Will picked him up and he was out like a light by time he got upstairs. I wouldn’t be surprised if he wakes up before, but don’t let him sleep later than two, he’ll be grumpy and fussy,” she gives him a quick hug, thanking him once more, before pulling away, “Anything else?”

“I think I’m okay—“

“Oh! He’s going through a strawberry phase,” She calls as Will pulls her out the door, “In the crisper, he can have as many as he wants!”

Spencer laughs to himself, shaking his head as he makes his way into the living room. He takes a seat on the couch, flipping through one of the books on the table.

Tired feet patter into the room, before Henry rounds the corner of the couch, clambering up with a little bit of struggle.

“Hey Hen,” Spencer greets, voice still soft to match the sleepy look in his Godson’s eyes, “Are you hungry, kiddo?”

Henry nods, rubbing his hands with sloppily balled firsts. He nuzzles into Spencer’s chest, and Spencer runs a soft hand up and down his God son’s spine, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. “Still sleepy?”

That earns yet another nod, and Spencer glances at the clock on the wall— he’s only been napping for about an hour, and usually he sleeps for at least two.

“Are you more hungry or sleepy?” He asks softly, pulling back to take a look at his face.

“Hungry,” Henry responds, struggling to get out his ‘r’ sound, but Spencer understands immediately.

“Alright kiddo,” he says softly, standing and placing Henry on his hip, lifting the center consul of the ottoman which hides the pillow pets and blankets, “I’ll tell you what. You lay down with Mr. Whale, and I’ll bring you some strawberries and chocolate milk, huh?”

Henry nods, obliging. He flops down onto Mr. Whale, a pillow pet that is very clearly a dolphin, and allows Spencer to tuck the dinosaur blanket around him securely.

“Uncle Spence?” He mumbles, voice full of exhaustion, and the type of pure unadulterated love only a child can possess, “I missed you.”

“I missed you too, kiddo.” He whispers, pressing a kiss to one of the few children that don’t terrify him, “Do you want to watch something while I make you some lunch?”

“Can I watch the space thingy? With the chicken nugget guy?” He asks, eyes soft and innocent.

Spencer can’t hold back his amused snort, “you mean _Neil deGrasse Tyson_? Buddy, Tyson Foods and Neil deGrasse Tyson aren’t.... _yes_ , you can watch the space thing.”

He flips through the channels, tucking Henry’s blonde hair behind his ears before making his way into the kitchen. He cuts up some strawberries, slipping them into a plastic penguin plate along with a plastic Diego fork. After that, he pops three dinosaur chicken nuggets in the microwave, setting them on the plate as well. Finally, he pours a bit of chocolate milk into Henry’s favourite dinosaur sippy cup and brings it out.

Much to his surprise, Henry is still awake and perks up upon seeing the food, Spencer pushes the coffee table closer to the couch to protect the floor, and lifts Henry setting him on his lap.

It’s not much of a surprise when Henry goes immediately for the dinosaur shaped chicken, covering the tips in a little bit of barbecue sauce with every bite. From there, he takes a few sips of his chocolate milk, getting distracted by the documentary for a bit before moving onto his strawberries. 

He burps, which in turn makes Spencer laugh quietly. He picks up the napkin, unfolding it and raising it, “Hands, kiddo.” 

And to his content, Henry used the fork the whole time, managing to keep his hands decently clean— his face though? That’s a completely different tale. 

Once he’s clean, he huffs out a sigh, leaning into Spencer’s chest as he watches the documentary. When his breaths begins to even out, Spencer raises his voice to a soft whisper, “You want to me tuck you in?” 

“I wanna stay here,” Is the little one’s only reply, burrowing himself against Spencer’s chest as he falls back asleep. 

Spencer throws a quick glance to the clock, and he can’t help but wonder if his legs will stay awake for another two hours under the sleeping child. But then, he decides, he doesn’t really _care_. 

True to her words, Henry wakes up at around one-thirty, and drinks the rest of his chocolate milk with ease. For the rest of the time they spend at the house, Henry follows Spencer around like a shadow, even sitting on the counter as Spencer washes the dishes. 

“Alright Hen,” Spencer sighs, sitting the boy back on his hip, “Do you want to go to the museum or the library?”

Henry pretends to think, taping a tiny finger to his chin and catching a bubble in his mouth before he says, “museum!” 

To be fair, Spencer isn’t too surprised.

“Alright, lets go get you changed, yeah?”  
  


The drive to the museum is relatively easy, Henry babbles about dinosaurs in the backseat and Spencer occasionally throws a glance at him through the rear view.

Once they arrive, Spencer leans down holding out his hand. Henry gathers three of Spencer’s fingers in his fist as they walk in, getting distracted by the colours and sounds.

“Uncle Spence!” Henry exclaims, and Spencerresponds with a soft hum, prompting the boy to lower his voice. “What kind of dinosaur is that?”

“That’s a Plesiosaurs, Hen. It’s the same kind that some people speculate—“ when Henry blinks at the vocabulary, Spencer tries again, lifting Henry onto his hip for a better view, “it’s the same kind that some people think they’ve seen in the Loch Ness. A lot of people call her Nessie.”

“Do you believe in the Loch Ness monster?”

“Not really,” Spencer responds simply, glancing at his Godson who’s eyes are still trained on the plastic dinosaur swimming above their heads, “But that’s only because she’d be so old.”

“Like grandma?” Henry asks, eyes wide and innocent.

“ _Older_ ,” Spencer breathes, “Millions and millions of years older.”

“ _Whoa_ ,” Henry breathes, “That’s a lot of years.”

It’s moments like these that Spencer can’t help but be grateful for JJ allowing him to spend so much time with Henry.

They carry on like that, looking through all of the history of the world for a while. Henry points with wide eyes and an excited grin and Spencer slowly explains everything he knows about the topic.

By time they reach the art showcase, Henry has declared that:

_1.) dinosaurs, especially Megalodons— because they are quote “at least three of you Uncle Spencer”, are his favourite animal; Spencer doesn’t correct him on any account._

_2.) cavemen look “funny” and he would never wear bones on a necklace_

_3.) he wants to ride a dragon_

But something about the art room sets Spencer on edge, and he has the terrible feeling something is going to go wrong.

He just chalks it up to overthinking, and excess stress from his job.

It’s not until Henry is staring at the Water Lily painting that everything goes south.

Three gunshots ring out, matched by squeals and a booming voice. Henry is shaking against Spencer, wrapped right around his neck.

“ _Hey_ ,” Spencer whispers, voice soothing, “I know you’re scared, but I need to set you down, off of me, okay buddy? Can you be brave for me?”

Henry nods and Spencer sets him down on the ground, only for him to cling to Spencer’s leg.

“Hands in the air!” Everyone in the room complies, the pandemonium of people everywhere but the art showcase rushing to get out. “We’ll make this quick and easy, take the art and go. It doesn’t have to be bad unless you make it bad.”

Spencer glances the attackers over, pulling the information he needs with precision. The one holding the gun is shaking, he won’t shoot anyone— they’re wearing ski masks that aren’t effective at masking their prominent features.

But then, one of them catches sight of him and his expressions sours, “Who are you?”

“I’m Doctor Spencer Reid,” He says easily enough, making sure he omits any information that links him to the FBI. “Who are _you_?”

Clearly that wasn’t the right thing to say, because the dominant partner pulls out his own good shooting a bullet that goes just above Henry’s head— whom, to his credit, runs and hides under a bench.

The Unsub clearly is not interested in Henry though, and that’s what gives Reid hope for the time being.

“You’re one of those profilers,” the guy hisses, waving his gun, “you’re the G-man that took my brother from me!”

Spencer’s head cocks to the side, and his eyebrows furrow, but the man keeps raging, voice raising as he yells. While he’s distracted, Spencer runs through every scenario in his mind of getting all the hostages out before the matter escalates.

And then the unthinkable happens, his phone rings.

The Unsub stops dead in his tracks, rising his line of fire to Spencer’s heart, when he speaks, his voice is low and threatening, “Pick it up.”

Spencer complies, keeping one hand raised in the air and he pulls the phone out, holding it up in clear sight as he opens it. “On _speaker_!”

The gunman steps closer, but he’s not dumb enough to get within point-blank range of a trained FBI agent, no matter how gangly.

“Reid, you need to get down here. There’s a robbery in progress at the museum on—“

“Hotch, I _know_.”

Hotch pauses, and all Spencer can hear is the laboured breathing of everyone in the room, both out of fear and out of anger.

“What do you mean you know?” He says slowly, “Reid _where_ are you?”

He can hear Penelope’s voice in the background, but it’s not clear enough for anyone else to decipher. Something minuscule in Hotch’s voice changes, and Spencer sends a glance to the security camera in the corner.

“No signals!” The gunman calls, clearly not realising there’s more than one one camera in room when he shoots one down.

“Can he hear me?” Hotch asks.

“Yeah, he can hear you.” Spencer confirms, glancing over the room again.

“Release the hostages, they haven’t done anything. If you kill anyone, especially a federal officer you are not getting out of this alive.”

Something switches in his eyes, and Spencer Reid’s it. His voice comes out, unwavering and fearless, “Hotch— he knows that.”

“Hang up.” And Spencer does.

“Drop the phone, and kick it over to me.”

Spencer does as he’s told, thanking whatever gods may or may not be listening that he changed his lock screen from a picture of Henry the night before.

“You’re a _Doctor_ , right?” The man calls, and Spencer’s lips purse into a thin line, “Where can I shoot you and have you live to _watch_ me kill all these people.”

The gunman doesn’t wait for a response and screams fill the air. 

“Oh my God,” Garcia gasps, “They shot him. They _shot_ him.”

“Do you have visual?” Hotch asks, leaning over her shoulder as he slips into his vest.

“Yes— well, no. Kind of— Oh God. Yes, I have visual but not of Spencer,” she freezes, just as the door opens, “Do you see that? Under the bench?”

“ _Henry_ ,” JJ blurts, knees buckling, “Henry’s with him.”

“Wait,” Penelope breathes, “I can- I can see his converse. He’s not moving.”

“The Unsub lost interest,” Rossi states, voice frustrated, but detached. “We have to assume—“

“He’s not dead.” Garcia cuts him off, “He can’t die. He’s not dead, he’s survive more than gunshots.”

“For everyone’s sake,” Hotch says, and though his face remains stoic they see right through him, “I hope you’re right.” 

They’re panicking when Reid wakes up, backs facing the hostages. Everyone is sitting against wall, hands behind their backs. Spencer throws a quick glance to Henry, who has tears running down his cheeks.

“Unc—“ but Spencer shakes his head from where he lays facing Henry.

“I’m okay,” He mouths, “don’t move.”

Henry nods, pushing further into the shadows. Spencer looks at himself, finding that the bullet tore through his shoulder— the good news is it’s only a .22 that hit him, that’s a lot less blood and a lot more time.

Spencer looks everywhere— there’s not antique swords or guns and as cool as it would be to tell his friends he defended himself with a medieval sword, it’s absolutely no match for a .22 caliber gun with multiple rounds.

“Hen,” He whispers, when the robbers leave the room, more likely than not to conceal their plans from any eavesdropping patrons, “Don’t let me fall asleep, okay? If I start getting sleepy in a little, you can’t let me fall asleep, okay?”

Henry nods, before shakily asking, “Does it hurt?”

Spencer shakes his head, sending Henry the best smile he can manage, “I’m _okay_ , buddy. Don’t worry about me.”

He risks lifting his head, looking at the hostages who look at him as if he’d come back from the dead. He quickly realises he is the only one injured— _physically_ , at least. Everyone here is probably mentally scared for life.

When he hears footsteps, he rests his head back down, maintaining eye contact with his Godson to assure him that he’s alive and not drifting into an eternal nap.

But when the footsteps grow close to him, he lets his eyes slip shut. They’re talking above him, and the submissive one says, “We need to get _rid_ of him.”

Spencer holds his breath, and it appears as though the perpetrators are far more untrained than they originally appeared— definitely disorganised, and more likely than not first time offenders— maybe following in a family members footsteps.

They lift Spencer up by his extremities, carrying him around the corner and out of everyone’s range of sight. The submissive one remains with him as the dominant returns to the center of chaos.

_Alright_ , Spencer thinks, _new plan._

Inside the her tech center outside of the museum, they all hold their breaths as they watch the partners drag and unresponsive Spencer into a different sector of the museum. 

“Garcia, can you—“

“Already on it, sir,” she replies, breathless, finger nails tapping against the keys in a rush before the live feed from the ancient aquatics section rises to the forefront. Spencer lies on the ground, limbs sprawled out as the Unsub who’d stayed with him Spencer’s with his back to Spencer’s frame.

He doesn’t want to look at him, they realise at once— Spencer was a victim of opportunity despite the clear sadistic nature of the other Unsub.

“Did you see that?” Morgan breathes out, leaning in over Penelope’s shoulder, “Baby Girl, zoom in.”

And when she does they see it, Spencer’s eyes are open, looking around and if they focus enough they can almost see the wheels in his head turning. He slowly rises to sit, eyes focused on the submissive partner. Once he’s up, he looks around wordlessly, more likely than not for something to defend himself with. But, when he starts to turn around, Spencer sprawls back down.

His motions go unnoticed, and from three exhibits away, the dominant partner calls his name. Immediately, Garcia starts pinging around for information— and when they look back at the spot where Spencer’s body was— he’s gone, only a bloodstain in his wake.


	2. Chapter 2

“Any updates on Reid?” Hotch asks, taking out his earpiece as he looks over Garcia’s shoulder.

“It’s like he disappeared,” She breathes, “I can’t find him anywhere— and that might just be what he needs because it seems like our buddy, Ricky Yates, just realised he lost the dead guy.”

“Wait— Garcia, go back,” Prentiss says, leaning over her shoulder to get a better look at the screen, “The top left corner.”

There’s a hallways that the cameras don’t cover, and unfortunately it seems to be the first place Yates checks.

“Oh shit,” Morgan breathes, “Get _out_ of there,Reid.”

But the warning never comes and as Yates catches sight of their resident genius, they all look away. Once there’s a clear thud of a body, Rossi is the first to bring his eyes up— though he doesn’t find what he’s expecting. 

Instead of converse being dragged out of view, it’s the pair of worn black work boots that Yates had been wearing. Moments later Spencer reappears, his face is pale but his cheeks too flushed for comfort— even from the standpoint of the camera’s.

As he turns, beginning to disappear once again, they can see Yate’s gun pressed between his belt and lower back. They follow him as well as they can but to Reid’s credit, even with a gunshot wound the kid is good at disappearing from prying eyes. 

Distantly, Morgan wonders if his abilities come from years of dodging jocks that were five years older and one hundred and fifty pounds heavier than Reid. He pushes the thought away for the time being.

The pain coursing through Reid’s shoulder is admittedly _less than ideal_ , but he only has two things on his mind. Finding Henry, and taking down the creep who figured robbing a history museum would be a good gateway into the world of crime.

He shimmies his way into the areas of the museum he’s come to find over the times he’s found himself coming back before finally getting a line of sight on the dominant counterpart.

If anyone sees him, they make point of ignoring him, except Henry, who’s eyes lock onto Spencer the moment he sees him.

Spencer shakes his head and Henry creeps back under then bench, covering his head with his hands. Spencer rounds the corner, ducking behind some filing cabinets.

“Ricky!” The Unsub calls, tapping an impatient foot, “Ricky, are we still clear?”

All he receives is radio silence and he lets out a snarl, throwing his bag onto the floor before darting off in the direction he come in. 

It’ll take him approximately eight minutes and thirty three seconds to realise that Ricky is gone, and if he goes to try and find him— which Spencer doubts he’d consider in the first place, it’ll be fourteen minutes and forty seven seconds.

“How are you not _dead_?” One of the hostages blurts as Reid makes his way into the line of sight, “Dude you look like a goddamn string bean—“ 

“Shut up, do you want him to _save_ us or _not_?” 

”Oh _shit_ —“ And for the first time in his life, Reid finds he’s miscalculated severely.

“Drop the gun,” he can feel a cool barrel pressed to his back, and he sighs.

“I’m setting it down, if I drop it, it’ll discharge.”

The gun barrel moves with him as he sets the ground on the floor, and the Unsub continues to speak, “Kick it, out of their way. Completely out of their way.”

Reid decides that despite his last calculation being a terrible one, he might as well try. The chances of him making it out of this alive anyway are slim to none.

He sends a glance up to the camera, careful to avoid moving his head as he kicks the gun a bit away from the other hostages, but not completely out of reach.

And then, he makes what is debatably the worst decision of his career. He grabs the barrel of the gun and pushes it towards the ceiling.

There’s something about the look in Reid’s eyes than sends off alarm bells in the teams heads, and at once Hotch sends a dispatch to break past the security system the robbers had managed to disarm. They’d figured this out before, eventually finding that the first and more dominant Unsub was Jackson Gordon, a night time security guard for the museum.

They’re about the follow the team when Reid decides to turn around, grabbing Gordon’s arm and a raising it to the ceiling, swiftly punching him.

They almost have hope.

Keyword being _almost_.

It takes the Unsub a matter of milliseconds to reroute Reid’s arm, though Spencer manages to redirect the line of fire.

There’s a moment of pure terror before the radio silence breaks through. The moment comes and passes as the Reid gets knocked off his feet and back a few inches by the proximity of the blast. 

This time they can see him, and this time they wish they couldn’t.

He lands on his back, hand finding the bullet wound on his stomach as Gordon raises the firearm to finish him off.

Reid flinches as a second guns shot fills the air, and Gordon topples backwards, moaning. One of the hostages immediately comes to his aid, taking off her blazer and pressing it against Reid’s abdomen, kicking the firearm away from Gordon as he reaches for it.

Their hearts break when Reid winces at the pressure, face contorted in pain. They can’t hear what the woman is saying to him, but they can tell it’s taking every ounce of energy for him to respond coherently.

But then, Henry appears in his line of vision and they watch as Reid shoves the pain down. The team tells Hotch that they’ve gotten through the security systems, and they’re on their way through, but it’ll be too long before they get there. 

“Hey Hen,” Reid manages, voice hoarse and barely above a whisper, “Are you okay?” 

Henry nods, sniffing as tears pour over his little cheeks, flushed with grief that Reid yearns to take away from his young mind. Spencer doesn’t realise his eyes are closing until Henry’s little hands are placed on either side of his face, calling his name.

“ _Please_ , wake up,” the young boy is choking on sobs, and all Spencer wants to do is help him, but he’s not sure he can. He cups his hand around Henry’s cheek, sending him a ghost of a smile.

“I’m awake, bud,” Spencer slurs, eyes closing on their own accord, “M’ake, don’ worry.”

Henry takes Spencer’s hand with both of his, holding it in his lap. “Uncle Spence, you gotta be awake.”

Spencer’s head lulls to the side, eyes still closed, his words are barely audible when he coos, “I love ‘oo, Hen... _s’much_.”

“Please _don’t_ sleep,” Henry cries, but before he knows watch’s happening, JJ is scooping her into his arms as they carry Spencer away.

Once he’s out of view, Henry buried his face in JJ’s neck and he cries until tears are replaced with a dreamless sleep. He doesn’t quite understand what’s happened to Spencer, just that he _couldn’t_ keep his uncle awake when he _needed_ him to the most. 

Spencer wakes up slowly, an uncomfortable tickle in his throat and exhausted. Once he’s semi-cognisant, he jolts, starting to sit before the pain as well as two pairs of hands weigh him back down.

“ _Henry_?” He blurts, blinking away the fuzz.

“He’s okay,” Hotch’s voice fills the silence, “Shaken, but okay. It’s late, JJ said she’d bring him in once you woke up. Do you want to see him now?”

“No it’s okay,” he coughs, “Is there any water—“ Prentiss places a straw to his lips before he can finish the sentence, informing him Garcia left to find some broth and jello for him when he’d started stirring.

“You have some bruising on your cheeks and your lip is split, but it’s not so bad considering you took two gunshots within an hour,” she watches as Reid flinches at her words.

“Not my finest moment,” he grumbles, bringing a hand up to his head, “how much blood did I have to lose to think any of that was a good idea?”

“Did you just make a joke?” Emily questions, feelings his forehead.

Spencer rolls his eyes, gasping when the room spins for a moment, murmuring, “Bad idea, terribly bad idea.”

“I think someone needs some more rest,” Hotch sighs after Reid’s eyes start to close again, but Reid shakes his head opening them. 

“Just got dizzy for a second. What’d I miss?”

“Gordon and Yates are alive, trial pending but they’re definitely going away for a long time,” Hotch reassures him, “You _need_ to _rest_.”

“I’m not even tired,” He mumbles thought a yawn, jaw cracking asEmily pulls the blanket up around him, “M’wide ‘wake.”

Hotch rises to his feet, ruffling Reid’s hair as he begins to nod off, “There’s a new phone for you in your bag when you’re ready. Garcia’s here, and Morgan’ll be here in a bit. Sleep tight.”

“M’kay,” He mumbles back, and Hotch is almost positive Reid didn’t hear any of what was said. 

JJ is sitting in one of the leather chairs of Spencer’s room, Henry still asleep against her collar bone as she watches Spencer breathe in and out.

Even after her confirmation from Hotch and the Doctors last night she just needed to see him. She needed to see him alive and breathing.

Henry stirs, sitting up and looking around sleepily. All of that grogginess fades when he sees his uncle lying in front of him, significantly less pale than the day before.

“Alright, Hen,” JJ says quietly, running her fingers soothingly through fine blonde hair,— he’s making those grabby hands, and she has to fight the urge to giggle. “Uncle Spencer is still tired, be careful, okay?”

Henry nods, squirming to be put down, “I’ll be good, momma.”

She sets him on the ground and he immediately clambers into bed beside him.

“Uncle Spencer?” He mutters, speaking as if he were holding a small animal that he wanted to protect.

Spencer blinks open his eyes slowly, a lazy smile finding its way onto his lips, though it falls when he sees the young boy’s tears.

“What’s wrong, Hen?” He croaks, wincing when Henry throws his arms around Spencer.

“I couldn’ keep you awake,” He mumbles against Spencer’s neck, hot tears finding their way under his hospital gown.

“You did _so_ well, buddy. I was just too tired. You know when you try to wait up for Santa, but you fall asleep before you meet him?” Spencer sighs, eyes closed as he rubs soothing circles into Henry’s back, “It’s like that. It’s not your fault, okay?”

Slowly, he manages to coax a guilty, “ _Okay_ ,” from Henry.

When he starts to doze off again, Henry clutches his shirt.

“It’s okay,” Spencer says, and JJ wonders if he’s even awake, “I’m here. _You’re okay._ ”

She watches as Henry presses his face against Spencer’s good side, facing her. His wife eyes stare at her after Spencer has drifted off, arms secured around his Godson.

“Mommy?” Henry asks, just as Reid’s rhythmic breathing begins to pull her with him to slumber, “Can I nap?”

“Of course, honey,” She coos, sending him a warm smile, “We’ll be right here when you wake up.”

And true to her words, they’re all still sound asleep when Rossi comes to take his shift of watching the resident genius.

And if he snaps a picture for Garcia to print and distribute? Well, no one _had_ to know.

**Author's Note:**

> nice comments and kudos are A+ content, mean comments are more like C content. pls don’t get a C.


End file.
